


walk a crooked mile

by reclamation



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reclamation/pseuds/reclamation
Summary: For the good of Heaven, Naomi will agree to be Abaddon's apprentice.





	walk a crooked mile

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posting some old deleted works.

After Lucifer was defeated, Michael gave Naomi a special mission: The protection of Heaven.

In the aftermath of a war that sundered the Host into two, the weight of this order settled heavily upon her. Even so, if Michael had not been convinced of the need himself, Naomi never would have ventured to the gates of Hell willingly. She doubted that such a place could have anything to offer.

She asked Michael, and his grace flared with disappointment at her question, "Heaven must be fortified— _unified_  in purpose. We will need specialists, and you will be one of them. You will go to that place and bring back something useful."

"Leave it to me," she responded.

Michael softened to her, something she could only sense by her grace, "Naomi, I ask this of you, because in all the garrison, I trust you to accomplish your duty whatever it may entail. I trust that you understand, too, that enemy tactics are not useless to us, however distasteful they may be. We can use the knowledge you gain to stop another schism by anticipating and preemptively correcting the issue. It is a worthy goal."

She welcomed that message, and she used it to quash any lingering unease.

Naomi had once known so many who were damned alongside Lucifer; it was something she thought on often. She couldn’t help but wonder what that place would be like. Suffering and torment would prevail, of course, that was the entire reason she was to go.

Thus ordered, she took a vessel for the first time and approached Hell warily.

 

 

 

The gates of Hell were much as the human myths depicted. Unaccustomed to the physical limitations of a vessel, Naomi could not be certain whether they had always been that way or whether mortal perception twisted their physical presence to limited human perception. The dark, porous bars stretched into the abyss, looking both foreboding and miserable.

A demon stood waiting for her behind those bars. He bowed mockingly at her approach, “Good evening. The name’s Crowley and, under only slight duress, I’ll be playing as your captive audience this fine day. Hope my outfit's appropriate for the pearly gates.”

The muscles of her vessel knew how her mouth should curl around a sneer, so she allowed the expression. The dissonance between her true form and current physical manifestation was disconcerting.

He opened the gates with a flick of his hands without actually touching the metal. The gesture was a flourish that would surely impress a human. He hesitated rather than step towards her. “What did you say your name was, love?”

“Naomi.”

“Naomi,” he repeated, mouth lingering around the name sinfully. She felt her sneer deepen of its own accord, her vessel’s teeth pressed hard together.

“Naomi,” a third voice singsonged as another demon approached. The newcomer, who walked with nothing short of a saunter, possessed a young woman with bright eyes and fashionable hair. Immediately, Crowley tensed. Even amidst enemy territory, Naomi studied the newcomer appraisingly. The demon stopped between Crowley and Naomi, humming thoughtfully, “'Naomi.' From the Hebrew for ‘pleasantness,’ I believe. Are you pleasant, Naomi?”

She considered her answer. “No, I am a warrior of God. You know my purpose here.”

The woman-shaped demon grinned; for an abomination, she was beautiful. “I’m so glad to hear that.” Without taking her eyes from Naomi, she gestured impatiently at Crowley and said, “Get out of here. I'll think I can keep Naomi company.”

“She's under Michael’s—” He stopped, abruptly and racked through with agony. The other demon’s hand reached towards him, twisting as cruelly as her mouth. Her eyes went completely black. Crowley writhed, half-fallen against a gate, gasping painful breaths as Naomi watched impassively.

As soon as he was released, Crowley nodded and disappeared without further comment. The remaining demon turned back to Naomi, smile and bright eyes back in place. Behind the pretty mask still snarled a demon's distorted face.

“Who are you?” Naomi asked.

“Abaddon,” she answered, smiling sweetly again. Her voice was as suggestive as Crowley’s, but the exact nature of the promised of sin was hidden well.

That voice, assured and sweet as any angel’s, struck Naomi as the most dangerous thing she could encounter in this terrible place.

"Shall we?" Abaddon asked, offering her hand. Naomi took it, and then they were in Heaven.

 

 

 

All of Heaven knew of Abaddon. There had long been whispers of Lucifer’s remaining chosen knights and their ugly actions. Even if Naomi had not known, she believed she may have guessed by the way that Abaddon looked her fearlessly in the eye and carried herself like a warrior. She took Abaddon to a secluded area set aside for their purpose, which was as secure as could be managed and, more importantly, away from the remainder of the Host.

Abaddon pressed in close to Naomi, brushing a delicate hand against her vessel’s jaw before allowing it to fall to hold firmly at Naomi's neck. “Tell me why we’re here, angel. In your own words.”

The demand paired with that touch startled Naomi through her very grace. Naomi hid the instinctual flinch, unsure of whether it originated in her own grace or her human body. She wanted— _badly_ —to remind the arrogant demon that Naomi could easily smite even a knight of Lucifer. Perhaps  _especially_  a knight of Lucifer. If not for Michael's orders, Naomi would be pleased to do so.

She kept her tone even and answered, “I am ordered to—”

“No, you’re not paying attention. You brought me here so you could learn to wallow in the muck, baby. So let's start off right. Your first lesson is to  _listen_  and your second is to  _obey_. Shouldn’t be that hard for your breed, hmm?” Abaddon didn’t wait for a response. “Now answer: Why did you bring me here?”

The heavy weight of Abaddon’s hand remained against her. Naomi focused on breathing as steadily as she can, tried to control the increased tempo of her vessel’s willful heart.

“To learn,” she said, biting back indignation at the idea of obeying a demon.

“About what?” Abaddon asked, rewarding Naomi with by running her thumb along the cords of her throat. “What does Hell have to offer that Heaven could possibly need?”

“Reeducation,” Naomi answered. She would not give more information than necessary, even if she was too aware of the pulse of blood coursing right under those dreadful fingertips. “For those angels who question their path and need to be guided back towards the light.”

It was not lost on Naomi that Michael asked her to learn to prevent another angel falling from those who would most benefit from such an occurrence.

Abaddon laughed.

 

 

 

Abaddon was endlessly amused with their task, and she stayed by Naomi’s side ceaselessly. Her presence, if not comforting, became familiar.

“Essentially, we’re talking about coercion. You want to make and unmake identities, memories,  _wills_ ,” Abaddon said. In her hand, she offered a knife. “We may as well start with the most direct method of persuasion: Pain.”

“No,” Naomi shook her head. These human expression came more naturally each day. Abaddon was so expressive, the human she wore moving fluidly in graceful gestures. She explained, “I know enough about suffering.”

Abaddon sighed, managing to appear indulgent and irritated simultaneously. But she conceded, “There are those more devoted than me to the art of torture anyway. And there are other things that you might find more pleasant to learn.”

Naomi nodded, and Abaddon eyed her speculatively.

"You're going to need a place to work."

 

 

 

Naomi created her own workspace in that isolated section of Heaven. She designed it to be useful above all else, built to be full of light and clean lines and purpose. The disappointment came later in finding that, despite the office's brightness, her own space held its own sense of foreboding and misery.

Abaddon explored the office and perched on the edge of the desk. Her head was bent forward so that Naomi could see only the smallest hint of the curling of her lips. She said, finally, "It'll do. Let's get started, shall we?"

"What do you get out of this?"

"Don't you worry about our arrangement, angel. I'm sure we'll have plenty of fun."

 

 

 

Naomi was shaking by the end of their session. They worked without time, endless and awful. Littering the ground were bodies that looked—even to her full angelic senses—exactly like Abaddon. Each corpse was sprawled like a beautiful, broken doll. They were always empty, never having possessed a soul or even true sentience.

When Naomi had begun, she had scoffed at Abaddon's request and reminded her that she had slain many demons before. Abaddon had only smiled and responded, "Then what's the problem?" Naomi had drawn her own blade and smote the first waves as if to prove a point. She could still hear the sounds they made—each would laugh, throaty and amused, and perhaps offer a compliment or observation before collapsing like puppets with cut strings. Now, Naomi could only see the blood and the skewed limbs looking at them.

The real Abaddon stood next to her with dark eyes. She had hovered close the whole time, either just beyond Naomi's shoulder or lounging at the desk like she belonged there. “Excellent work, my dear. Got the urge to strike me down out of your system? Then I think you’ve earned a reprieve, wouldn’t you say?” Naomi couldn’t stop the rush of relief or her accompanying nod. Abaddon smiled, graciously, “Now I want you to put them all back together. One by one and piece by piece—no celestial tricks to speed through.”

Naomi worked with precision. She gathered up the first body into her arms and, with a touch, smoothed out a gaping wound in the chest made by her angelic blade. Another touch and the dislocated arm was back in place. Another and the bruising around those full lips disappeared. She took a moment to admire the perfect, unmarred sweep of the jaw and the elegant curve of the neck before wondering when she stopped making the distinction between Abaddon and the body she possessed.

By the thousandth time, Naomi found herself actually breathing a sigh of relief every time that face was once again unharmed and perfect.

Abaddon still stood behind her and watched approvingly. Sometimes, she caressed the blades of Naomi’s shoulders as if looking for wings. Later, she placed a confident hand at Naomi’s waist. They were comforts Naomi would never admit to wanting.

"You could apologize to them, if you like," Abaddon suggested, offhandedly.

Naomi kept her mouth closed over the initial desire to obey, to breathe out 'I am sorry' to the next Abaddon-shaped doll, but it was a near thing.

 

 

 

Naomi could not say how long she was left alone in her strange apprenticeship; Michael did not visit, but he eventually sent Uriel.

Uriel found Naomi while Abaddon had her wrapped her in a close embrace from behind. The easy slotting together of their borrowed bodies felt right. Abaddon’s human hands rested low on her stomach, her chin settled possessively against Naomi’s shoulder, and Naomi's side cradled between Abaddon's hips. At their feet, there were still bodies, waiting for Naomi's attention. Waiting for Naomi's healing. She suspected that for each body she fixed another two took its place, but she did not shrink from her task. The task Michael and Abaddon both put before her—Michael distantly and Abaddon directly.

Uriel raised an eyebrow, considering the scene around them. Finally, he looked to Naomi and said, “Sister.”

It took so much energy to break away from Abaddon. Naomi had healed countless versions of that body, and her restless grace was only put at ease when the demon placed a reassuring touch against her borrowed form.

“Michael sends for you,” Uriel said.

Naomi managed to shift her body towards Uriel, gathering her strength even as her grace fluttered immediately in protest. “I will come. I am nearly finished here.”

Uriel frowned, but he went ahead of her without protest.

Abaddon moved forward. Her hand curved against Naomi’s chin. With the gentle hold, she pulled Naomi forward so their lips brush. She said, quietly, “You could come with me instead.”

Naomi staggered as if from a blow. Her grace trembled.

“I will not,” she answered, and hated how the weakness of her vessel made the words sound like that. She firmed her stance, calling on words created for just such an occasion: “Thou art an offense to me.”

“You’re beautiful when you lie, Naomi,” Abaddon said, smiling too fondly.

It took a moment for the meaning to reach Naomi. She wanted nothing more than to respond by stretching her wings, leave this place—which seemed as much Abaddon's as hers—and never to think on it again, but Abaddon’s rested a hand on her arm and held her in place with no force at all.

"Can't blame a girl for trying. A pet angel's awfully tempting, sweetheart." She squeezed Naomi affectionately, fingernails digging into the skin sharply. "At least do the right thing,” Abaddon said, chiding, “and walk a lady home. Who knows what trouble I might find all by my lonesome around Heaven.”

Naomi wanted nothing more than to be away from the deceitful creature so she can assess the damage wrought slyly through her being, but the not-quite-threat stilled her. When Naomi offered her arm, Abaddon took it, smug satisfaction writ over her features.

"Maybe 'pleasant' isn't so far from the truth after all," Abaddon paused. With exaggerated wistfulness, cruelly stroking over Naomi's exposed nerves, she added, "Or maybe I was even closer than I hoped with your education."

 

 

 

The gates of Hell looked different on her second visit. No longer were they the dreadful structures she remembered, but now they seemed sleek and cruel, but with undeniable, abominable beauty. The porous metal was replaced by intricate latticework of sadistic scenes.

Abaddon opened the doors after they land, but made no move to walk through.

“Told you we'd have fun,” Abaddon said, running a hand along the sleek bars. It's only after Abaddon let her go, with one brush down the length of her arm, that Naomi realized they were still touching. Abaddon's voice was hushed as she pulled back, "I never thought I'd see Heaven again."

Naomi bristled, anticipating but not understand a new trap. Her grace was still anxious within her vessel. She answered, after too long a pause, “‘Abaddon,’ meaning ‘the Destroyer.’ Ordinarily, you would never have been welcomed.”

"Don't I know it. Management does seem to be evolving in new and truly fascinating ways, though." Abaddon said, eyes riveted to Naomi and voice teasing. She was no longer standing so awfully close to Naomi, but Abaddon's look heated her vessel uncomfortably anyway. “My dear angel, don’t look so sad and fearful. If you ever wish to change your mind, I’ll consider letting you persuade me that you still deserve it.”

Although Naomi felt pinned by that gaze, she spread her wings.

 

 

 

Abaddon was gone, but her presence lingered.

Michael did not ask for any details of Naomi's apprenticeship; in turn, she kept Abaddon's name and contribution to herself.

First, he ordered her to erase Uriel's memories pertaining to Naomi's training. Naomi overcame the test without resorting to Abaddon's methods. She might have been too eager to destroy that compromising image stored in his mind, but she put the concern aside. She was, after all, following orders.

Michael was pleased with her progress; he was doubly pleased with her effectiveness. Her work would be important to the integrity of the Host, he told her. He was, like Abaddon, too fond.

So it became Naomi's duty to fix angel after angel, turning each lost one back to the path of the righteous. One seraph in particular begged reeducation time and again, but she had never failed in her duty. She knew that she should have been deeply grateful that she could serve her mission so well.

Instead, she stood in her office with the skin of her vessel anticipating the feel of familiar hands.


End file.
